Slytherin's Curse
by polka dot mouse
Summary: What if Voldemort's madness had been a curse, passed down through the Slytherin bloodline? In Tom Riddle's fifth year at Hogwarts, an unexpected event in Defence Against the Dark Arts transfers his cruelty and madness to Augustus Rookwood, a fellow fifth year student. An AU story in which Tom Riddle's story unfolds very differently.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Augustus Rookwood loved Defense Against the Dark Arts. He'd read through the whole section in his father's library during the summer when he'd been shut up in his family's mansion. Their teacher was alright, he supposed, but he never talked about the good stuff. Merrythought could be a bore. At least in Fifth Year they were doing better topics. Currently Merrythought was explaining duelling and was only focussing on the defensive side. Augustus was much more interested in the offensive spells, but recognized that one needed to know to defensive ones too.

He looked at the boy sitting in front of him. Tom Riddle. Augustus disliked and resented Riddle, but, being a Ravenclaw, was smart enough to ally himself with the prefect. He had known by third year that Riddle was a force to be reckoned with: he was cruel and domineering, but he was also the picture of a model student. Riddle rarely noticed him, but Rookwood made sure that when he did, it was favourable attention.

Currently Riddle was listening intently to Merrythought, occasionally taking a note or answering a question. Rookwood looked out the window at the rain and tried to disguise the disgust he felt towards Riddle. How could poor orphan from a _Muggle _background ingrate himself with purebloods?

Merrythought addressed his class. "Today we will begin our study of duelling in a practical sense. I will pair everyone up and we will practice shield charms. No dangerous spells please." Then, he began to make his way around the room pairing people off. When he got to the bench where Augustus was sitting, he paired him with Riddle.

Riddle had that arrogant smirk on again. Augustus was itching to wipe it right off. They had made their way to the corner of the room when Merrythought had instructed the partners to spread out. "Ready, Rookwood?" Riddle asked coolly, peering at him as if he knew everything.

Augustus had worked himself up till he was spitting mad. When Merrythought instructed them to start, his anger overcame his past prudent behaviour towards Riddle. "_Confringo_!" he hissed.

Riddle blocked his curse with a straight face and a flick of the wrist. He did not even need to vocalize the spell.

Augustus gripped his wand in a tight fist. How dare this Muggle orphan? He was no better than scum! "Is it my turn now?" Riddle asked, perfectly calm.

Augustus ground his teeth. "Sure." Riddle sent a Jelly-Legs Jinx toward him. He blocked it easily with a shield charm, but he was infuriated. Riddle was not even engaging with him. Did he not think him an adequate opponent? The way he used that posh accent was disgusting! When Riddle had first arrived at Hogwarts his accent had been the drawl of working class Londoners. What a fake!

It was his turn. Overcome with hatred for the other student, he knocked Riddle back into the wall. The other boy had not been expecting it and hit the wall hard. Before he had time to react, Augustus shouted "_Incarcerous!" _Riddles hands and feet were now bound by thick ropes, causing him to fall back against the wall and to the ground.

Riddle was angry now. "What the Hell!" he hissed, almost like a snake.

Augustus had read many of his father's spell books in his library over the summer. He now used a spell that he had seen scribbled in the margin and had meant to look up.

"_Depello!"_

Riddle's head knocked back against the wall. Augustus felt an inexplicable tightening in his chest and felt a moment of panic when he could not breathe. Then the feeling passed and he looked at Riddle. The other boy was unconscious, but nothing else seemed to be happening.

Then, Augustus felt a rush of pleasure and fascination as blood began to seep out of Riddle's nose, which was uncharacteristic of him. As he stared at Riddle, the noise of the other students duelling in the classroom seemed muted around him.

Suddenly, Bartemius Crouch's voice cut through his daze. "What are you doing? That is not what Merrythrought asked you to do!"

Augustus turned to look at Crouch, the fifth-year Hufflepuff prefect, as a rush of uncontrollable anger rushed through his body. He suppressed it. "Riddle was out of control, sir," he lied. "He was attacking me so I had to restrain him."

Crouch gave him a doubtful look. "Professor Merrythought!" he called.

Merrythought hurried over as Crouch flicked his wand to make the ropes around Riddle's wrists and ankles disappear. The teacher bent over the unconscious student. "_Rennervate_."

Riddle's eyelids fluttered. Merrythought tapped Riddle's cheek. "Up you get, boy."

"Up you get, boy."

Tom's head was killing him and there was something wet on his face. He reached his hand up to touch his cheek but someone pushed it back down.

He opened his eyes to see Merrythought bending over him. "Are you alright, Mr. Riddle?" the professor asked.

"Fine," answered Tom by default. His eyes shifted to Rookwood. "Rookwood attacked me with a spell I didn't recognize, sir."

"Well, sir, Rookwood said that Riddle was attacking him, which is why he restrained him. I don't understand why he was unconscious if that was the case," Crouch butted in.

Tom frowned. He was concerned about the effects of the unknown spell. Merrythought shook his head decisively. "Mr. Riddle and Mr. Rookwood will see Headmaster Dippet this afternoon after dinner to work out the unfortunate situation. At the moment, I will take Mr. Riddle myself to the Hospital Wing." Merrythought turned to address the rest of the class who were openly staring at the group of four in the corner of the room.

Tom took Merrythought's offered hand and let the professor support him down the hallway. He did not like to show others weakness as a rule, but he supposed that this was an extenuating circumstance since he was feeling dizzy. He also felt odd. The best way to describe it would be emotionally unbalanced.

The Hospital Wing was a long, narrow room with a high ceiling and large, paned windows. Tom had not spent that much time there as he was rarely ill. The nurse instructed him to sit on one of the cots and she waved her wand around him. "He has a mild concussion but other than that there are no unpleasant affects," she said, addressing Merrythought. She glanced down at Tom's wrists. "I'll get you some cream for those marks, dear."

Tom was released awhile late with instructions to go to bed early and remember to report to Dippet's office after eating dinner. He obediently went downstairs to the Great Hall, preoccupied with his thoughts about the way he felt. He had no way to describe it so had not wanted to mention it to the nurse. It was not a sick feeling; he just felt odd.

Nevertheless, he reported to Dippet's office after dinner. He ascended the stairs that opened when the gargoyle's moved aside. Rookwood was already sitting in one of the two chairs in front of the headmaster's desk. Dippet sat in a high-backed chair on the other side fiddling with the red velvet cap he always wore and looking at the flickering candle that stood on the desk.

Tom thought the rain on the window sounded rather ominous but the pushed the thought out of his head. Since when did he think such things?

"I'm surprised to see two of my most excellent students called to my office," Dippet began when Tom sat down. "Mr. Riddle, Mr. Rookwood has been telling me how you maliciously attacked him and he had no choice but to restrain you. He says that when he bound your hands and feet you stuck your head against the wall and fell unconscious. Is this correct?"

Tom felt a rush of fury. Surprisingly, it was not the usual red hot anger he was used to. He had no urge to reach out and strangle Rookwood, but instead to prove him wrong in front of Dippet. "No, sir, Rookwood attacked me. First by physically shoving me against a wall and then binding my wrists and ankles. He then used a spell I did not recognize, but apparently I suffer no ill affects from."

"What was this incantation, Mr. Riddle?"

"Depello, sir."

Dippet frowned. "I have never heard of that spell. To be quite frank, the two of you are both prefects, have impressive academic records and are responsible students. I will give both of you the benefit of the doubt on this occasion, but the two of you had better hope that an incident of this sort never happens again, or you will be punished most severely. Mr. Riddle, you are to serve three detentions with Professor Dumbledore; he will schedule them with you when he sees fit. Mr. Rookwood, the same goes for you but with Professor Merrythought. Is this understood?"

"Perfectly, sir," Rookwood answered.

"Yes, sir," Tom consented, cursing his luck. Dumbledore had been the teacher that had come to explain to Mrs. Cole at South Lambeth Orphanage that he was to go to a private boarding school in a remote area of Scotland. At the age of eleven, he had not perfected the act he so perfectly played at school: the perfect prefect who was smart, polite, and had many devoted friends. Instead, he had revealed to Dumbledore his real thoughts. To this day Dumbledore remained suspicious.

He went straight back to the Slytherin common room after being dismissed by Dippet. Avery and Nott were waiting for him. "May I ask what happened today, my Lord?" Nott asked, addressing Tom the way he had trained all his followers to do.

Tom felt uncomfortable. He did not want to share with anyone his concern over the odd feeling the unknown spell had given him. The thought occurred to him that his followers might think less of him because Rookwood had managed to beat him in a duel, but he wagered that they were too scared of him for a thought like that to ever enter any of their heads. "Rookwood attacked me in a Muggle manner, which unfortunately caught me off guard and he managed to knock me out. I assure you he will feel the consequences," he said smoothly.

Avery nodded. "Do you want me to arrange a Knights meeting, my Lord?"

The Knights of Walpurgis was the name of Tom's group of followers, who most people in their year thought were his friends. Tom had no friends, only followers. Tom frowned, considering what Avery said. He did not want to be bothered at the moment. He needed to look up the Depello spell and continue his research. "No," he decided. "We will meet later."

He needed to go to the library after he retrieved some things from the dorm. He continued past where the other two Slytherin boys lounged on armchairs in front of the fireplace. The fifth year boys' dormitory was at the top of a wooden staircase ending in a thin doorway. When he entered, he realized in relief that no one else had returned yet.

For five years Tom had been researching Salazar Slytherin, the Chamber of Secrets, and his mother's family, the Gaunts. He had discovered in his second year that he was the child of Merope Gaunt and a Muggle called Tom Riddle. As much as it was incredibly distasteful that he had Muggle heritage, it was exiting to learn that the Gaunts were descended from Salazar Slytherin himself.

Tom retrieved his black notebook from under his mattress and shoved it into his bag. He had to make his way to the library so he could look up the spell before it closed. If Dippet had not recognized it, it was going to take him a long time to find it.

Two hours later, he was still sitting at a table in the library, pouring over books from the restricted section. He had already gone through the indexes of countless books for a spell with the incantation Depello, with no luck. The library was lit with torches on the walls and candles that hung from chandeliers, but it was getting late and some had gone out, making it hard to read. To make matters worse, it was pitch black outside and the wind was howling.

Tom hit the table with the palm of his hand in frustration. Madam Pince, the young librarian, looked up from her stack of ledgers in annoyance. Eventually she came and told the fifth year that the library was closing and he had to leave soon or he would not get back to his dormitory before curfew.

He was a prefect, so it did not matter anyways, but he left and started on his night patrol of the corridors that the prefects had to do. He only had to do it for a week once every six weeks, but he enjoyed exploring the halls of Hogwarts, so he took the other Slytherin prefects shifts. This was especially useful because he was searching for the Chamber of Secrets.

As he was patrolling the third floor when he decided to continue his search for the Chamber. He had already formed a hypothesis from his research that the entrance to the Chamber was located on the third floor. On his nightly patrols he had checked most of the classrooms and closets. That meant he was left to search the bathrooms and the Trophy Room.

He started with the Trophy Room. In an ancient document he had come across in the restricted section it had said that the entrance would most likely be denoted with some kind of snake emblem. It took till quarter past midnight to score the entire length of the room for clues. Nothing, but he was too awake now to go back to his dorm and sleep.

He went to check the bathrooms next. The castle was as silent as the grave, and he had to use his wand to guide his way because the torches had gone out. He did the boys bathroom first and found nothing. He supposed he had to do the girls, though why his noble ancestor would want his Chamber located in the girl's lavatory he did not know.

At three o'clock in the morning he found what he was looking for on the tap above the sink in the girl's loo. He turned the tap back and forth, but no water came out. He stared at the tiny emblem of a snake. It could not possibly be a mistake. This had to be the entrance.

With all his research he had become increasingly certain that one would have to use Parseltongue to open the Chamber. After all, only an heir of Slytherin was supposed to be able to enter, and in Wizarding Britain, the only native speakers were descendants of the founder himself.

He wondered if there was a password, but he figured he might as well try the obvious first. "_Open,_" he hissed in the snake language.

What he had wanted for five years happened. The tap glowed white and spun like a top. Then, the entire sink sank below the floor, leaving a hole. To Tom it looked like a massive pipe.

Slytherin's heir was supposed to be able to control the monster. Tom had waited so long to see Slytherin's Chamber that he simply was not going to wait, damn the danger. He was going down there tonight.

He sat on the floor in the lavatory with his legs hanging down the hole. He took a deep breath and pushed himself down. It was exciting. He lit his wand up so he could see the interior of the pipe, and to his surprise, there were many smaller pipes coming off of the one he was in. His pipe continued steeply down for a long time.

Eventually it got less steep, and when it came to the end he had too much momentum to force himself to stop and he came tumbling out the end, skidding across the floor of a stone passage, hitting the adjacent wall. The walls and floor were damp and had a layer of green slimy mould. He crept carefully down the passage, lighting the way with his wand and listening for sounds.

When something beneath his shoes began to make crunching noises, he turned the wandlight down. There were bones scattered all over the floor of the tunnel. At first there were only a few, but as he went on, there were piles.

Tom was nervous, which was unexpected. He was usually quite calm in these situations. After awhile of walking, he came to the end of the passage. It ended with a stone wall, but with two stone snakes carved into it that had glittering jewelled eyes. He wiped his hands on his sweater and hissed, "_Open._"

The stone parted where the two snakes met in the middle of the wall, opening to allow Tom to walk through. What greeted him was more majestic than he could have imagined. The Chamber was larger than the Great Hall, with stone pillars supporting the high ceiling. As soon as he had entered, torch light had lit up the stone hall.

He continued along the Chamber until he reached the end, where there was a massive statue of who must have been Salazar Slytherin. Tom spent a moment gazing up at his ancestor. According to a document in a book he had bought in Knockturn Alley, the heir of Slytherin could call upon the monster to come out. But what to say? "_Open,_" he tried in Parseltongue, but nothing happened.

The book had said to call upon Slytherin. It was worth a try. "_Your heir is here, Slytherin, greatest founder of the four._"

Something moved inside the wall behind Slytherin's mouth. He then tried, "_Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four._"

The mouth of the massive face began to open. Tom stood rooted on the spot, staring as a hole appeared in the wall. "_So hungry… So long I have slept…time to kill…"_

Tom had not felt terrified in years. As a child at the orphanage he would lie alone in bed after waking up from a nightmare, too afraid to go back to bed. This was the same feeling, but one hundred times more intense.

A basilisk was coming towards him out of Slytherin's mouth. He shut his eyes and managed to hiss, "_I'm Slytherin's heir. You must obey ME."_

Tom heard the sound of the huge serpent slithering across the floor stop. "_You have not the smell of a descendant of the noble founder." _It sounded angry.

It began to move again. Tom stumbled back, turning around, and opening his eyes. He ran as fast as he could towards the entrance, but the giant snake was fast. "_Please, I'm of the Gaunt family! I have Slytherin's blood! You're supposed to obey me!"_

The basilisk continued. _"You have not the mark of Slytherin upon your soul."_

Tom gave up and ran, ducking behind a pillar. The snake continued hissing about how hungry it was, but no matter where Tom tried to hide, it could sniff him out. At least is was making noise.

Making a quick decision, he jumped out from behind a pillar, squeezing his eyes shut, and shouted, "_Somnus!"_

It worked. The snake had gone silent and lay against the stone floor, asleep. Tom got out of the Chamber as quickly as possible, so not to still be there when it woke up. He made his way back through the passage, but he didn't know how to get out of the underground Chamber, which must have been below the lake. He could not climb back up the pipe, it was way too steep.

There were other pipes, though, that were not so steep, but were smaller. He supposed he had no other choice but to try to get up to the lavatory through those since if he stayed in the Chamber he would eventually be found by the basilisk and probably eaten.

He climbed into a smaller pipe that he could just fit into that branched off of the bottom of main pipe he had slide down. It too travelled up but at a more slanted rate. With only the light from his wand he crawled up the pipe for hours, passing numerous twists and turns and parts that were so steep and narrow he did not think he could get through, but he did.

Eventually there was a light. He frantically scrabbled towards it. It was coming from a grate in the top of the pipe. He pushed it open and crawled through the small opening, reattaching the grate. He was in a lavatory, but it was not the girl's lavatory on the third floor.

This was a boys' washroom, with showers and a big pool with large taps. It was the prefects lavatory. He sighed in relief. At least he knew where he was.

He checked his watch. Another jolt of panic went through his body when he realized that it was nearing seven o'clock. He had gotten no sleep, was filthy, and the Slytherin dormitory was a ten minute walk.

Luckily, his housemates slept in so he was able to have a quick shower in the boys' lavatory in the dungeons and clean up. Starving, he made it to breakfast just in time. Nott, Avery, Lestrange, and a multitude of his other followers were already crowded around the end of the Slytherin table.

Tom was silent as his housemates made conversation around him about the war.

"Do you think Grindelwald's men will attack Diagon again?" Avery was saying to Lestrange.

"Nah," Lestrange said, his mouth full of bacon. "I reckon no. We had two years of bad attacks and its been a few since the last bad one."

Avery looked kind of disappointed. Tom would be surprised if he was not enjoying the war and all the gruesome excitement it brought, but at the moment he was too preoccupied with the Chamber situation to concentrate on the conversation. He was pretty sure that the entrance had sealed after he had slid down the pipe, but what if it hadn't? What if the basilisk was roaming the school at that very moment?

One thing was certain. Tom had to destroy all his research as soon as possible. It was too dangerous. The giant serpent was too unpredictable and Tom never wanted to enter the Chamber again. It should be shut up.

After Charms class, when he had a study period, Tom made his way to the third floor girls' loo. Looking both ways down the hall, he made sure no one was in sight and slid into the room. Looking around, he realized that thankfully the entrance was sealed. He fingered the copper tap. He hoped it would stay that way.

His next objective was to destroy the journal he had been writing his notes and thoughts in the Chamber this whole year, plus countless other papers and notebooks he had collected over the years that were now stuffed into his bag. He found his way to an empty classroom in the dungeon where he knew there was a fireplace and lit a fire in the grate with his wand.

He removed the notebooks and papers from the bag but could not bring himself to place them in the fire. It had take him five years to compile countless notebooks about Slytherin, the founders, the castle, and the Chamber. It would be so useless to destroy it now. He replaced the documents in his bag and left the classroom.

He did not notice another boy watching him in the shadows of the dungeon. Although it was midmorning, the dungeons were dark and it had been easy for Rookwood to stalk Tom on his morning jaunt, although he'd been confused as to why the prefect had been lurking around the girl's loo.

Rookwood followed Tom back to the library, although he did not notice. Tom began his Ancient Runes readings but soon fell asleep over the book, his bag on the chair beside him.

Rookwood, who was sitting at the table a little ways away, approached Tom across the carpeted floor. He stood over him for a moment, checking to see if anyone else was in sight. They weren't, since the library was quiet midmorning when most students had classes.

He transferred the research from Tom's bag to his, as he had been curious as to what the Slytherin prefect had almost destroyed in the deserted classroom.

What Augustus Rookwood found would propel him to greatness.


	2. Chapter 2

Tom called a Knights of Walpurgis meeting about a week after he tried to destroy his research. As usual, he took note of whom sat around the table with him in the abandoned classroom in the dungeons. It was a rainy May and it was cold in the basement of the castle so they were huddled around a roaring fire.

Lestrange, Nott and Avery were there, of course, their eyes focused on his face and Cygnus and Orion Black were playing cards while waiting for Tom to speak. Walburga Wilkes was braiding Lucretia Black's hair, and Rosier had his nose in a book. He frowned. Augustus Rookwood had yet to show up.

Tom addressed the group. "Knights." Everyone in the room immediately ceased what they were doing and turned to look at him. "Recently I… lost some important documents. They were most certainly stolen from me and it is imperative that they are returned to my possession. I need you to look for a person who is suddenly spending a lot of time in the library, presumably with lots of papers or black notebooks. Do not attempt to steal the notebooks back. Tell me who it is and I will deal with it."

The Knights of Walpurgis nodded their consent. Two years ago they would have questioned him, but no more.

"What's on the papers?" Orion Black asked, quickly adding, "my Lord" to the end of his question.

Tom frowned again, glaring at the second year. The silence in the room was palpable. "It is none of your concern."

He could not stand the atmosphere in the room anymore and left. None of the members of the group would question him, since he had taught them long ago to fear him. He had only told them after searching everywhere he could think of himself, first. He was wandering down the dungeon corridor, nearing the potions classroom, when he ran into a girl, sending both of them sprawling.

He almost groaned in irritation as her books scattered all over the hallway. He would need to help her collect them to maintain his perfect prefect stance. Then he saw who it was.

"Myrtle!"

"Hi, Tom," the bespeckled second-year said, pushing the glasses up her nose. "What are you doing here?"

He grit his teeth. "I live down here, you dolt! What are you doing down here on a Saturday?"

"You're polite to everyone but me, you know. You're weird at home, but at least you're not a ponce there," she sighed and looked away. "I'm avoiding Hornby."

He realized that her eyes were red from crying. The light from the torches on the stone wall accentuated it. "Are you okay, Myrtle?" he blurted out. He was astonished with himself. He had actually meant what he said.

She was just as astonished. "Why would you care? You've ignored me when we come to school for two years!"

Tom stared at her. "It's not like I talk to you when we're in London," he explained. Myrtle Cook had come to South Lambeth Home for Orphans when Tom was nine and she was six. Amy Benson had taken her under her wing, and Tom hated Benson so there was no reason for Tom to ever associate with her. Now, for some reason he felt badly, only confirming his hypothesis that something was seriously wrong in his mind.

"Why don't you write to Benson if you feel sad?" he suggested stiffly, watching her gather her books.

"I do! I do!" wailed Myrtle, sniffing. Tom grimaced. "But its not the same as having friends here! I want to go home. I thought I'd like it here but I hate it!" She dropped the books she'd gathered up again.

"For goodness' sakes, Myrtle, don't have a bloody breakdown," Tom said, while bending down to pick up the books. "Why don't you go to the library and study?" he asked, hoping to brush her off.

"You're not listening! This is worse than the orphanage!" She was really crying now, the tears dribbling down her cheeks. Tom was at a loss. In his emotionally unstable state, he was having trouble dealing with this.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," he tried. "But there's only two months of school left."

"That's too long!" Myrtle sobbed. "Don't you miss Eric?"

A rush of anger forced its way through Tom. How dare Myrtle speak of this? He'd forgotten about that whole situation, too. He gritted his teeth. If he hit Myrtle now, his whole reputation as perfect prefect would be shattered.

"No, I do not," he replied, at a loss of how to console her. "I suppose you can come and study with me in the library."

Awhile later, sitting across the table from Myrtle, he came to the conclusion that he needed his head examined. She moaned on and on about some girl named Olive Hornby while he tried to concentrate on the book he was reading about mood charms. "Maybe I should put a Cheering Charm on you, Myrtle."

Myrtle stared at him, but she didn't have time to answer because McGonagall, the sixth-year Gryffindor prefect, came through the main doors of the library and addressed the studying students, having magically amplified her voice. "Students please return to your common rooms. There is no need to panic, but for security reasons please proceed straight there."

"Myrtle, you should go right back to the Ravenclaw common room, do you understand?" Tom said, gathering his things. Myrtle gave him a reluctant nod and went on her way. Tom made his way over to McGonagall.

"What's going on?" he asked her, as students crowded through the doors right behind them.

"I could use a little help, Riddle," she snapped, gesturing to the crowds. "We have to round up everyone in the school and get them back to the common rooms."

"But why?" he protested. "Did something happen? In London?" he guessed.

"London? What?" said McGonagall, bemused.

"Bombs," Tom reminded her, as a sharp rush of anxiety coursed through his body. He might not care for everyone at the orphanage, but he didn't want them dead. But then he pushed the thoughts away. Since when did he care?

"No," McGonagall said, being a pureblood and therefore sheltered from the horrors of the London bombings a couple of years previous. "I don't know. I think a student was injured."

Tom frowned, confused. "Okay. It must be really bad for this kind of reaction."

McGonagall turned to leave. "Are you going to come and help me, or not?"

He followed her, curious as to what had happened. He did not find out until an hour and a half later after they had traipsed about the school instructing students to return to their common rooms. The prefects convened in front of the Hospital Wing, waited for a teacher to come and instruct them. The group of twenty-four students immediately began to gossip about the event causing all the chaos.

"Anyone know what happened?" McGonagall asked, as bossy as ever.

"I heard a Slytherin was really injured," Crouch said.

"Who?" asked Tom. It couldn't have been any of the Knights, since he had just seen them hours before.

"I don't know," Lucretia Black said. She was the sixth-year prefect for Slytherin, and being generally nosy, usually knew stuff like this. "I think it may be a student in the younger years."

Dumbledore arrived in front of the group. "I'm sure you all are curious to know the details of this unfortunate situation. For the sake of preventing gossip, I am going to tell you, the prefects, the frank truth. Cygnus Black, a Slytherin third-year, was found petrified in the dungeons a few hours ago. With the use of a powerful Mandrake Draught, he will recover in due time. Rest assured that the staff are working to find the perpetrator of this act of dark magic. For now, please be cautious. You may go."

As Tom turned to leave, Dumbledore called out. "Mr. Riddle, I would like to speak with you in my office."

His stomach sank. Dumbledore would most certainly suspect him of petrifying Cygnus Black, since Tom had stupidly told him that he was able to speak to snakes years ago when Dumbledore had delivered his Hogwart's letter. After all, he had schemed to put a similar plan into play at the beginning of the year, but after the unfortunate event with the basilisk and his missing research, he could not possibly go through with it. But, after all, Cygnus Black was one of his Knights. What would his motivations be for attacking him?

He stood in front of Dumbledore's desk at the front of the Transfiguration classroom. "Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore addressed him. "Is there anything you would like to tell me?"

Tom swallowed. What could he tell the teacher? _I think I'm turning into a Hufflepuff because I think I actually care about some people. _Or, better yet, _A week ago I maybe found the Chamber of Secrets and then confronted a basilisk. Just so you know, I did extensive research on how to exterminate muggleborns and then lost it, so someone may be in possession of it right now. _Right, and have Dumbledore expel him and really think he belonged in an asylum.

He shook his head and managed to choke out a, "No, sir."

Dumbledore gave him a long look. "I always find it's relieving to tell someone when something is bothering you, Mr. Riddle." Tom scowled at him. Dumbledore's bright blue orbs pierced his eyes. "But I see you are not in the mood. On another note, we have a detention to schedule. Shall I see you Monday night after dinner?"

"Yes, sir," Tom muttered, desperate to leave. When he finally found himself standing in the hallway outside the Transfiguration classroom, he leaned against the wall and took deep breaths. He was certain it was the basilisk that had petrified Cygnus Black. He would have thought the basilisk would attack muggleborns, but apparently not. With a jolt of horror he realized that it could kill anyone, himself included.

Tom almost had a panic attack right then and there. The thought of death scared him more than anything. He decided to hurry back to his dormitory as fast as possible, acutely aware that the hallways of Hogwarts were no longer safe.

He went through the next few days of classes in a daze. He found it hard to interact with other people because he was so stressed about the basilisk. He felt inexplicably guilty about Cygnus Black, only further confirming his fears of his emotional problems.

In detention, Dumbledore constantly asked him if he had anything to tell him, and Tom's constant answer was "No, sir," as always. But, leaving his third detention with Dumbledore on Friday night, Tom met Walburga Wilkes in the hallway.

In the moonlight of the large first floor windows that looked out into a courtyard, he soon realized she was petrified. He was unsure of what to do. Should he run back up to the Transfiguration classroom and get Dumbledore? While he was hesitating, McGonagall came around the corner, doing her nightly patrol.\

"What's up, Riddle?" she asked upon seeing his stricken face.

"Wilkes' been petrified," he answered breathlessly.

McGonagall frowned for a moment, but did not seem fazed. "I'll stay here with Black and you run to Dumbledore's office," she commanded, tucking one long black braid behind her ear.

Tom did as she said. But when he arrived at Dumbledore's classroom, out of breath and panting, he paused outside the door. A long forgotten feeling of apprehension came over him as he raised his fist to knock.

He shook his head to rid himself of the unwanted feeling and knocked. Dumbledore came immediately. "Mr. Riddle."

"Sir," Tom said, still short of breath. "There's been another attack. This time it's Walburga Black! McGonagall is still with her now."

Dumbledore gave him a long look. "That is grave news indeed, Mr. Riddle. We will go to them immediately."

McGonagall was waiting for them in the first floor corridor, calm but pale in the light of the torches that lit the hallway. She stood beside the petrified sixth-year Slytherin prefect, as if standing guard over her.

Dumbledore seemed to inspect Wilkes for a moment and then turned to the two prefects. "I would like to get Ms. Wilkes to the hospital wing, and then I should like to meet you two in my office. I would like to ask you some questions."

Dumbledore conjured a stretcher and levitated Wilkes onto it. He flicked his wand and the stretcher floated beside him as he walked towards the hospital wing. McGonagall and Tom glanced at each other and began to walk to Dumbledore's office.

They were mostly silent, but then McGonagall turned to Tom. "It wasn't you that did it, was it?"

Tom stared at her. Did Gryffindors have no subtly at all? You did not simply ask someone if they had attacked two people with advanced dark magic.

"No," he said bluntly. "If you're concerned about it, though, I was with Myrtle Cook at the time Cygnus Black was attacked, so it isn't me who's doing this."

"You were with Myrtle Cook?" McGonagall asked as they passed by a row of suits of armour. Her tone of voice made it clear that she would not expect Tom to associate with the likes of Myrtle. She tried to correct herself, "I do think its great, though, if you were. She looks like she needs some friends."

Tom scowled. "I've known her for awhile. She lives in London, like me." He doubted she knew he lived in an orphanage and he wasn't going to enlighten her. He found it humiliating.

When they found themselves sitting in front of Dumbledore's desk in the little room off the Transfiguration classroom, they did not speak. Tom was not a talkative person and did not want to speak to McGonagall, whom he found to be a bossy know-it-all.

When Dumbledore finally entered, it was late and both Tom and McGonagall were tired and stressed from the attack, making the atmosphere tense. The teacher sat down in his chair across the desk from them. He stared at his two students over his half-moon glasses, taking awhile to actually say something.

"I sincerely hope neither of you are in any way involved in these two attacks."

The two prefects answered that they certainly were not. Once Dumbledore had ascertained that McGonagall had come across Tom who had been the first to find the petrified girl, he dismissed the Gryffindor.

Once McGonagall had left, Dumbledore gave Tom a disappointed look. "To be quite frank, Mr. Riddle, it is suspicious that you came across Ms. Wilkes alone late at night to find her petrified."

Tom clenched his fists in his lap, angry at the teacher's accusation. "I was coming back from detention, sir, you can vouch for that. And this Saturday I was with Myrtle Cook. She'll vouch for that, too." Sometimes Tom thought that Dumbledore could see through him, but on this occasion he was actually innocent and the professor still saw him as the culprit. It was probably because he knew what he was really like behind the façade that he put up at school.

Dumbledore smiled grimly. "There's no need for that, Mr. Riddle. We are innocent until proven guilty. However, I would like you to know that if these attacks continue, the school will be shut down early. I believe you should be getting to bed. It is rather late. Before you go, is there anything you would like to tell me about?"

Tom gave his customary, "No, sir."

The next few weeks were hard for Tom, as his Knights of Walpurgis were beginning to turn on him. They suspected that Tom was responsible for the attacks, and after Orion Black, Cygnus Black's twin brother, was found petrified two weeks after his brother, things really got bad.

Tom was gifted with amazing magical power, but against Nott, Avery, Lestrange and Rosier combined, he was in trouble. After it was announced to the prefects about the third attack on Orion Black, he came back to the common room, worrying about the basilisk, as usual, when his five most loyal Knights accosted him.

"Its you, isn't it, Riddle?" spat Rosier, who was somehow related to Wilkes.

Tom sneered at him. "Of course not. Why would I attack my own people?"

"They're not your people, mudblood!" Avery cried, pushing Tom back against the wall of the common room, jabbing his wand into his neck. It had been a long time since he had been called a mudblood, and it made him furious.

He did not need his wand to cause pain. He had perfected this trick at the orphanage, when other kids would beat him up. Avery recoiled from Tom, clutching his hand that had previously been around the other boy's neck.

"You unnatural bastard!" he cried. "You're fucking with us, aren't you, you little mudblood! You talk like you want the stuff we do, but you're no pureblood! Its us you're after, isn't it?"

It was the first time since years ago at the orphanage that he'd been beat up. He'd gone to the lavatory after they had left him bleeding on the common room floor and attempted to patch himself up. Unfortunately he had done so much research on dark magic, that he had neglected the field of healing, but he managed to fix the broken nose, but he was left with a sore body from all the bruises.

From experience he knew that a trip to the hospital wing was out of the question. He had leaned young that adults should never be involved in such situations.

However, in his detentions with Dumbledore, the meddling old man constantly questioning him. "Do you have anything to tell me?" he would always ask and Tom came rather close to telling him about the basilisk a few times, but that would certainly end in Tom's expulsion, which was out of the question.

On night he was organizing a filing cabinet in Dumbledore's office while the man sat at his desk, marking papers. He had accidentally fallen asleep, only to awake a hour later stretched out on the professor's floor, his shoes removed, on a mattress with a blanket over top of him. He had been so tired from trying to stay up all night (his housemates had taken to vandalising the few belongings he had, and he had become worried for his safety, so sleep was not an option), that he had actually fallen asleep in his least favourite teacher's office.

Mortified, Tom sat up and turned to look at his Transfiguration teacher, who was still marking essays at his desk.

"You looked tired," Dumbledore explained. "You look like you could use more sleep, Mr. Riddle. Is anything on your mind?"

Other than his constant pain sessions with his fellow Slytherins, the basilisk that was on the loose in the school, his emotional state and his worry about bombs in London, nothing was on his mind but his upcoming OWLs.

"Nothing particular, sir," he answered. "I guess I'm just stressed about my exams."

"Nothing helps for that like a good nights sleep," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "If you're awake enough to walk back to your dormitory, you should go to bed now."

"I didn't finish the filing cabinet, sir," Tom said. By this time, he had gotten used to his treatment by other students, but he still did not want to return to the Slytherin lair. The entire Slytherin house shunned him. The saying was true, the more you have, the more you have to loose. Tom had forgotten what it was like to be the pariah, but apparently it was his destiny wherever he went. It was almost worse than the orphanage.

Still, Dumbledore dismissed him and sent him back to his dormitory to sleep. Tom obeyed, but went and slept on another conjured mattress in the abandoned classroom in the dungeons. It might be chilly, but it was better than his dormitory or the crowded air raid shelter at the orphanage.

At breakfast the next morning, he found out that another Slytherin girl named Dolores Umbridge had been found petrified. His situation was getting worse.

Myrtle seemed to be taking pity on him, although, she too had no friends or even acquaintances. They studied regularly together in the library.

Myrtle at least received letters from people at the orphanage. Tom found himself to actually be jealous, which horrified him. She would read them out when they sat in the far back corner of the library, hidden between two bookcases.

Amy Benson sent long letters, mostly going on about mundane happenings at the orphanage. To Tom's consternation, Myrtle had told Benson that the two of them were both shunned by their peers. She'd given the reason that they were poor, and that the other students came from rich backgrounds and liked to make fun of them for their humble beginnings. Benson replied that at least they were getting a good education, but she understood the way they felt. Last year she and a couple others had been evacuated out of London during the Blitz, to a huge manor house in the countryside.

The owners' children had been "intolerable snots" and she was glad to be back in London though the food was terrible. She also talked about the war. Many of the older boys at the orphanage had enlisted and gone off to fight, even if they were underage.

Tom's throat had closed up. As a young child, a slightly older boy named Eric had always looked out for him, basically raising him, but as Tom grew older they had grown apart. Of course, Eric had probably distanced himself because of Tom's disturbing behaviour.

Tom had gotten Myrtle to subtly ask Benson if Eric had enlisted. Thankfully he hadn't, much to his relief. He was not sure why he was now thinking of Eric, even missing him. He hadn't thought of him in years! After all, he was just another orphanage brat.

He began to take on more prefect duties to avoid other members of his house. One night on patrol, he ran straight into someone coming from inside a classroom off the hallway. This time, he went flying, landing painfully on his arm. He looked up to see a huge figure looming over him.

"Are you alright?" Rubeus Hagrid, a Gryffindor third year, in the kind lower-class accent that Tom despised.

"Fine," Tom gasped, the wind knocked out of his lungs. "Watch where you're bloody going!"

"Sorry, sorry," the giant thirteen-year-old apologized, scrambling to pick up a cardboard box he'd dropped. "Ah, no, Aragog," he moaned.

Tom was about to inquire as to what an "Aragog" was, when he felt something crawl across his hand. Having propped himself up on an elbow, he glanced down at his other hand and choked.

It was a giant tarantula. He sucked his breath in. "What the hell is this?"

"A-an Acromantula," stuttered Hagrid, bending down over Tom and holding out the box. "Back in here, Aragog. C'mon, back in here."

Tom was panicking. Even a baby Acromantula was dangerous. They had highly toxic venom and could easily kill him. "Get it away, you lunatic!" He shrieked, loosing control of his well-versed calm. He scrambled back so his back was against the wall.

"It's okay, Tom," Hagrid said. "he's really very friendly."

He swallowed convulsively, barely noticing that Hagrid had called him Tom, something that would usually anger him. "Just put it in the box, please."

"What's going on here?" Rookwood emerged from the shadows.

Hagrid looked sheepish. Tom was more concerned about the spider that was once again moving towards him. Tom finally thought to take out his wand, but as soon as he reached for it, an odd feeling overcame him.

It seemed like a good idea to put it away. It also seemed like a good idea to begin flapping his hands in attempt to get the spider to go away, even as Hagrid yelled, "Stop that, you'll just aggravate him!"

"What have you done Hagrid?" Rookwood was saying loudly, as Tom felt the spider's fangs sink into his hand.

The next thing he knew was intense pain as he blacked out.


	3. Chapter 3

Tom awoke to the view of the hospital wing's ceiling with no idea how he'd gotten there. He attempted to sit up, but was overcome with a wave of dizziness, so he lay back down against the pillows.

He could tell it was morning because the sun was shining through the long windows across from his bed. The last thing he remembered was eating dinner in the Great Hall. He could not fathom how he had ended up in the hospital wing.

Soon the nurse came into the infirmary, which was a long hall with many cots on either side, her skirts bustling. "I see you're awake, Mr. Riddle." She leaned over him and put a hand on his forehead. He brushed it off.

"What's wrong with me?" he demanded. He could not possibly be ill. He hated being ill.

"My," she said, straightening up. "You don't remember? I should fetch Professor Dippet!"

He stared at her, knowing better now than to sit up, but he managed his malevolent glare. Unfortunately, she turned away and bustled back into her office, presumably to floo call Dippet.

The headmaster soon arrived, looking flustered, his red cap almost falling off his bushy head of hair. "Tom, my boy!" he exclaimed upon reaching the end of his bed. "I've been assured that you are on the road to recovery!"

"With all due respect, sir," Tom began, "I'd like to know what happened."

Dippet turned and looked at the nurse who stood to the side of Tom's bed. "He's really forgotten?" he asked, fiddling with his cap.

When she nodded, he turned to look at Tom. "Well, my lad, you were attacked."

Tom stared at him. Had the other Slytherin boys gone too far this time? "By who?" he demanded.

The headmaster looked uneasy. "We're assuming it's the same being that is behind the attacks on the other students."

Tom lay back on his pillows, confused. His body felt weak and tired and his hand was throbbing. He looked down to find it bandaged. It could not have been the basilisk, since he wasn't petrified or dead.

Dippet patted his leg. "Don't worry, my boy, we'll get you back up in no time. Meanwhile, the school will concentrate on apprehending the individual behind these attacks."

Tom had to stay another night in the hospital wing before he was released. He spent the time obsessing over who, or what, had attacked him. It was as if part of his memory had been removed.

A week passed by in the normal frenzy of the pre-exam panic. It was now late May and Tom was busy studying in the library. That was almost the only thing he did anymore, since his housemates now hated him. Myrtle usually sat across from him, moaning and whining about her classmates' teasing.

One day he was studying alone, painstakingly coping out runes, when Myrtle ran breathlessly into the library, tears running down her face. She stood in front of his table. Tom was completely at a loss. It really annoyed him when she cried.

"Tom," she gulped. "You've got to come. Something terrible has happened."

"Fine," he groaned, shoving his books into his bag. "If you'll stop bawling."

But she sobbed all the way up to the third floor girls' lavatory where the entrance to the chamber was. She stood outside the door. "Tom, you've got to help me. They're going to think I did it."

"Did what?" he asked, exasperated. "Myrtle, I don't get what's going on."

"Just look inside," wailed Myrtle.

Tom frowned. "Myrtle, it's a girls loo. I can't just go inside."

"No! It doesn't matter. Just look!" Myrtle pleaded, tears streaming down her face.

He conceded, pushing the door open with one hand and standing half in the lavatory and half out. The first thing he saw was her feet. Olive Hornby lay on the tiled floor, seemingly asleep. A sense of horror and disbelief shot through Tom. "Myrtle," he said. "God, Myrtle, she's not dead, is she?"

Tom had never thought he'd feel this way in the face of death. For some reason, he'd always thought he would enjoy it. He had killed animals as a child, back in the orphanage, and he had certainly enjoyed that. When Myrtle nodded, a tear dribbling down her nose, he ran to the sink and emptied the contents of his stomach. This was horrible. It was all his fault.

Coughing, he said, "Myrtle, we have to get at professor."

"But Tom," she moaned. "They'll think it was me. Hornby was awful to me."

"Myrtle, you're twelve. They're not going to suspect you." He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "We have to go find a professor."

Myrtle was too inconsolable to possibly be trusted in finding and telling a person of authority what happened, so Tom pushed her towards the lavatory door and into the hallway. "Come on, Myrtle," he urged. "We're going to Dippet's office."

However, they came across Dumbledore in the hallway who stopped at the sight of Myrtle's wailing and Tom's sickly complexion. Thankfully, Dumbledore seemed to sense that something was very wrong and did not spend time with pleasantries as he usually did.

"Mr. Riddle," he addressed Tom, "What on earth has happened?"

Tom was at a loss for words. How did one say that a thirteen year old was dead? "I," he began, "Well, that is, Myrtle and I, we've found a body, sir. Not petrified, like. I mean, she's really…" He trailed off.

Dumbledore's blue eyes pierced Tom's own. "Show me," he commanded.

Myrtle and Tom stood outside the third-floor girl's loo while Dumbledore checked inside. When he came back out, he charmed the door so it would not open and turned to the two students. "Indeed, it is the truth, children. This is a very grave situation."

Dumbledore took Tom and Myrtle up to the headmaster's office but told them to wait outside. When he came back out, he told them that Dippet wished to speak to Myrtle alone, first, and then he would speak to Tom.

Tom felt more horrible than he'd ever felt in his entire life. He felt sick that someone was dead, he felt anxious because he knew they would suspect him, and guilty because it really was his fault that he'd lost the research and woken up the basilisk.

When Myrtle emerged from the room with Dumbledore, he explained to Tom that he was going to take her to the hospital wing to be treated for shock and he would be back shortly, and that Tom was to wait outside the office until he returned. Time seemed to pass slowly, but eventually the Transfiguration professor returned and Tom was led past the gargoyles and up the steps to Dippet's office.

The headmaster was sitting behind his desk, a solemn expression upon his face. "Have a seat, Mr. Riddle."

Tom nervously sat in the large chair on the other side of the desk. Dumbledore stayed standing, but moved so that he was directly across from Tom, locking him with his uncomfortable stare.

"Aurors from the Ministry of Magic are already here to investigate this terrible situation," Dippet began, sounding defeated. "Mr. Riddle, if you know anything about Miss Hornby's murder, you had better tell us now."

Tom stared across the desk at Dumbledore. Just like the time at the orphanage when Tom had told the Transfiguration professor about how he could speak to snakes, and revealing his real temperament, the words burst forth from his lips with a loss of control that he hadn't experience since he'd been a child.

"It was the basilisk that killed her, sir," he blurted out. "It lives in the Chamber of Secrets, the room beneath the castle that Slytherin built."

The two older men were silent as they stared at Tom. He was nervous, his heart pounding so loud that he could barely hear Dippet when he addressed him. He felt that he was certain to be expelled.

"A basilisk?" Dippet inquired.

"Yes, sir," Tom said. There was no going back now, he might as well confess. "I woke it up, you see. I found the Chamber of Secrets and entered it, and I woke up the basilisk by speaking to it."

"Speaking to it, Tom?" Dippet's tone of voice was surprisingly gentle as he questioned his student.

"Of course," Tom said, frowning. Hadn't Dumbledore told the headmaster about his ability to speak to snakes?

Dippet changed the course of the conversation abruptly, glancing at Dumbledore. "Did you notice anything suspicious about recently?"

Tom stared at him. "No. Well, yes, I suppose, the attacks and that stuff. I was injured too. I can't remember how it happened." He held up his injured hand. "Am I to go to Azkaban?" he asked dejectedly.

Dippet stared at him. "Azkaban? Of course not, lad. Why would you be sent there?"

Tom was definitely confused now. He looked at the headmaster and Dumbledore in incomprehension. "I woke up a monster that killed a girl and attacked other students," he stated bluntly, a sick feeling settling in his stomach. He was no better than a monster himself.

There was a knock at the office door. "Come in," Dippet called.

Augustus Rookwood entered, standing for a moment at the bottom of the stairs that led up to where Dippet's desk was situated. He then began to slowly walk up.

"Headmaster," he began when he was standing behind Tom's chair, facing Dippet and Dumbledore. "I recently heard that a student has died. I have information pertaining to this attack and the less recent ones that I have only just discovered."

Tom blinked, confused. This was unexpected.

Dippet stood. "Speak, Mr. Rookwood."

"This afternoon I encountered a third year, Rubeus Hagrid, in the third floor corridor. He was carrying a large box, and in my haste I bumped into him, knocking the box to the floor. To my horror, there was a young Acromantula that escaped from it. Luckily, Hagrid managed to recapture it. I did not want to risk confrontation, so I went to find a teacher to remedy the situation, which was when I heard the terrible news, so I came straight here."

"You have done the right thing, Mr. Rookwood," Dippet sighed, turning to Dumbledore. "Would you alert the Aurors, Albus?"

Dumbledore nodded, but as he was leaving Tom noticed him look towards Rookwood. The look on his face was the look he usually reserved for Tom himself.

The next few days passed in a blur. Tom had his hand re-examined by a healer at Saint Mungo's, who came to the conclusion it was indeed a Acromantula bite. Tom was also forced to have a mild healer take a look at him, who concluded he had been obliviated and that there had been some foreign presence in his mind, but it was now gone.

To Tom's horror, the healers came to the conclusion that his mind had been altered, which was how he had come up with the story about the basilisk, which everyone had dismissed as an outrageous tale.

It frustrated Tom that none of the authorities had paid any attention to him at all, instead viewing him as a victim and a piece of evidence. It frustrated him even more that they believed Rookwood's story, instead of his. Although, part of him had to admit that this story did not implicate him at all. But Tom hated to be pitied, and Rookwood's story made him out to be a miserable, hopeless victim.

In the months when Tom had been a friendless outcast, Rookwood had been gathering up his old followers and asserting himself as their new leader. He had also been gathering quite the stellar reputation with teachers, while Tom had not, since he'd barely spoken in class since the first attacks.

The school year ended with Hagrid's expulsion. Tom sat at the last dinner of the year and watched while Dippet awarded Rookwood with an award for "Services to the School". Later, when the food appeared and Tom played with his food, in no mood to eat, he looked up to the staff table, only to see Dumbledore staring at Rookwood. Tom swallowed. Dumbledore usually stared at him that way.

He sat with Myrtle on the train the next day. Rain poured against the windows, only feeding into their despondent mood.

Myrtle seemed to perk up as the train neared London. "I'm glad to get away, Tom," she sighed. "We need a break from that place."

Tom couldn't decide what was worse, being mocked by other wizards or being mocked by muggles.

Myrtle gave him a sly glance when his silence dragged on. "You know, if you were a little nicer at home, people would like you better. Eric would make up with you."

Tom glared at her. "Don't talk about things that you don't understand."

Myrtle turned to look out the window, but didn't seem hurt, which annoyed him a bit. She turned back to look at him, "What I do understand is that Rookwood is evil."

Tom hesitated, off balanced by the sudden change in conversation. "I'm not sure about him yet. What he's up to, I mean. I don't believe Hagrid could have possibly modified my memory. In fact, I doubt it was modified at all."

Myrtle looked a bit alarmed at this, but left it alone. "Rookwood probably modified Rubeus' memory as well," she theorized. "So he thought it was him who'd set the spider on people, but it was actually Rookwood."

Tom sighed, feeling depressed. "Its not like we could do anything about it, if it turned out to be Rookwood that killed Hornby. No one would believe us."

They were silent for the rest of the train ride.

Mrs. Cole was standing outside of King's Cross Station, waiting for them. She hugged Myrtle and gave Tom a nod, sufficiently wary of him like the rest of the orphanage was.

It was late by the time they got back to Wool's Orphanage, and everyone was already in bed. Tom and Myrtle ate a piece of stale bread in the kitchen before lugging their stuff up to their rooms. Myrtle murmured a goodnight before entering her dormitory, and Tom turned to go into his private room, which he'd obtained because no one wanted to sleep in the same room as him, and Mrs. Cole had relented to their pleas.

To his surprise, there was another boy about his age asleep in his bed, who he had never seen before. He left his trunk outside his room and marched down to the office to find Mrs. Cole.

She was at work at her desk, writing on some papers, in the light of a kerosene lamp that left the rest of the room but the middle in darkness. He stood at the door. "Mrs. Cole, someone's asleep in my bed." He winced when he heard himself. He sounded like a petulant child.

"Oh, I'd forgotten," she said, an odd note to her voice that Tom couldn't quite identify. "That's Kosta Balev. We've put you in your old room with Eric and that crew."

Tom felt a rush of irritation and anxiety. "I don't get my own room?"

Mrs. Cole fixed him with a glare. "This is a war, Tom. We're already over capacity. You'll have to make do."

He couldn't stop himself. "The new boy gets his own room."

Mrs. Cole seemed to hesitate, now. "We were going to keep you in that room too, but Eric said you'd be better off in his room, and quite frankly I agree. Up to your room then. I had your bed made up today."

Tom left in confusion and defeat. He entered his old dormitory, which he had once shared with four other boys. There were now five others, but he had his old bed in the corner.

He changed quickly, and slipped into bed, only to hear soft footsteps and his bed creak when someone sat on the end.

He sat up, only to come face to face with Eric Whalley. The other boy had grown again in Tom's absence, and although Tom wasn't short, Eric had a couple of inches on him. He was bigger, stronger looking, than Tom remembered.

They just stared at each other, Eric studying him, until Tom managed to whisper. "Eric?"

Eric smiled, but Tom couldn't help but shiver as he realized it was not the smile of boy he had grown up with. This was the way Tom or maybe Augustus Rookwood would smile. "I forgive you, Tom. Let's be friends again."

Tom gaped at Eric, and while part of him ached to agree, he could only come to the conclusion that this somehow was not his Eric. His Eric did not act this way.

Tom glanced over at the rest of the room and realized with a dawning feeling of horror that he could just make out that all the beds in the room were filled, including Eric's.

Tom reached for his wand. There was nothing he could do with it, since he was underage, but it made him feel safe. He looked over at the bed beside his. He could just make out Billy Stubbs' face where it was pressed against a pillow.

"Stubbs!" he said, as the un-Eric reached out and attempted to put a hand over his mouth, pressing Tom flat on his back on the bed. He moved his head to the side and yelled, "Billy! Wake up!"

Luckily, Billy Stubbs jolted awake at the noise, turning to stare at the two boys wresting on Tom's bed. "Christ, you two, it's the middle of the night. Can't you have your fight in the morning?"

All the noise awoke the real Eric, in the bed next to Stubbs'. Turning on the small lamp beside his bed, he snapped, "What the hell is going on?! Can't a guy get any sleep?"

"Eric?" Stubbs gasped, looking from the boy who was holding Tom down to the boy in the bed beside him.

The real Eric now noticed Tom's predicament, and to his surprise, he hissed, "Balev, get away from him" and pushed himself out of bed.

The fake Eric's features melted into that of a burly, dark-haired boy about their age. "Scared, Whalley? I certainly scared your Tom, here, but luckily he still knows you well enough that he knew I wasn't you. Sweet, right?" Balev sneered.

"Get out," Eric spat.

"What is all the commotion!" came Mrs. Cole's voice. "You're waking up the floor, boys, you should know better." She was standing in the doorway, and when she caught sight of Balev, she seemed to straighten up. She pointed down the hall, and said, "Out, boy. I won't have you bothering these lads."

Balev seemed to grumble to himself, but must have decided it was too much trouble to talk back, because he left the room in the direction of Mrs. Coles finger.

"Go to sleep boys," Mrs. Cole said, turning to leave. "And lock your door."

When she was gone, Eric did as he was told and fastened the door closed.

"Its not like that will do anything," complained Stubbs, lying back down and staring at the ceiling.

Eric shrugged. "Might as well do what we can."

Tom sat on the edge of his bed, his thoughts jumbled. One thing was clear: there was another wizard at Wool's Orphanage. One who did not mean well.

Eric turned to Tom. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Tom said. He paused a moment, wondering if he should bother to try to talk with him this late, then asked, "Who was that?"

Stubbs gave him a wry grin and answered, "Kosta Balev. Resident evil spirit or something. He's done that shit where he turns into someone else before. He turned into you once. We think he's possessed by the devil."

Eric cut him off, barely glancing at Tom. "Stay away from him, Tom. Don't go near him, do you understand?"

Tom wanted to yell at him for treating him like a child, but instead he just nodded, not wanting to get into a confrontation this late. "Turned into me?" he asked Stubbs curiously.

Eric gave Stubbs a look. Stubbs looked guilty and muttered, "It was stupid. Don't worry about it."

"How did he even know who I was?"

All the boys in the dorm were exchanging glances now. "You won't believe it, Riddle," one of them said.

"What?" he demanded.

"This guy can see into your mind," Stubbs said, his eyes wide. "Its really awful. I heard about this stuff in Church, you know? He's a demon or something."

Tom stared at him. See into people's minds? That sounded like Legilimancy. So this guy was both a Legilimens and he was a Metamorphagus? Tom swallowed. This was not good.

Not good at all.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Augustus Rookwood's father had sent a Muggle car to meet him at the station, which displeased him, but there was not much he could do about it, so he handed his trunk over to his family's butler and climbed in the backseat.

He had arrived at his family's manor in the early morning, by then fuming at the indignity of having to ride in the Muggle contraption. His head aching, he went to go retire to his rooms to take a nap, but he ran into his mother coming up the large marble stairs in the front rotunda.

"Augustus," she gushed, and for the first time he noticed that when she spoke little bits of spit flew out of her mouth. He squinted at her. He remembered his mother as being rather pretty, but now he found her lips too large for her face. She paused in her flight down the stairs to greet him when she saw his expression. "What's wrong, my dearest?"

He quickly shook himself and smiled at her. "Nothing, Mother, I'm simply exhausted from my journey."

She embraced him, squeezing her chubby arms around his body. "I'm so glad to have you back, darling. I have wonderful news." She took a step back, and swept her eyes over him. "You look so tired. I'm so sorry, I would've come to the station to get you but," she paused for a moment, unsure of what to say. "Your father's ill with the flu and, well, the good news."

Augustus stared at her again. His mother was acting out of character. She looked flushed and excited. "What's the good news, then?" he asked.

"Well, my dear, when we were in travelling in Scotland we came across a poor woman, a witch, who was very ill. Oh, yes, she was dying and she knew it. She had a little one with her. The prettiest little thing he is. Anyways, she was staying at a monastery not far from where we were, at the Rosier's Manor. Apparently, her husband was a soldier, a Muggle, who had died in the war," Mrs. Rookwood took a breath as if preparing for the best part of the story. "Oh, Augustus, she begged us to take the child! Adopt him, raise him as our own; I couldn't say no, of course. So here he is. He's in your old nursery. Isn't this just wonderful? Your father and I always wanted you to have a sibling."

Augustus could not contain his rage. "You adopted a child?" he hissed.

His mother recoiled. "Aren't you happy, my dear?"

"Happy? Happy? To have some snot-nosed brat underfoot?" He made his way past his mother and up the stairs to his rooms. "I'm going to bed."

"You'll get used to it, darling," his mother called after him, sounding a bit desperate. "And you'll never guess his name! Its Heathcliff, how fitting is that?"

"Muggle literature," he spat, and slammed his door. "A Muggle name for a Muggle brat!"

Tom awoke to a bed that was considerably less comfortable then his bed at Hogwarts. He came to the conclusion that he'd only slept a few hours because the room was still so dark. It had been dark last night, but there had been a light on in the hall. He thought that it must be the early hours of the morning.

And then the bell rang. For as long as Tom could remember, not counting his time at Hogwarts, he had arisen to the clanging of the bell of the church that stood next to the orphanage. Confused, he rolled over and realized that they were still using the blackout boards that had been mandated by the British government a couple of years back. Tom had forgotten while at Hogwarts that London was still plagued by air raids.

He heard the sound of someone climbing out of bed and scrambling with something, and then light poured into the room. Someone groaned, and another rolled over causing the bed to squeak. Tom put his pillow over his head. It was certainly louder than the orphanage then it was at Hogwarts.

He then remembered that there was another wizard now living at Wool's Orphanage, who the other boys seemed to think was a victim of demonic possession or had sold his soul the devil to gain "unearthly powers". Tom wondered why they had never suspected him of having "unearthly powers" or being possessed but had just assumed he was messed up in the head and "just plain evil".

He heard Mrs. Cole from outside the door. "Up, boys! You have work to do!"

Tom sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Work?" he asked Stubbs, who was already pulling his jumper over his head.

"Yeah, we all got work this summer. War effort. Mrs. Cole will tell you what you have to do."

Tom groaned. He had been hoping to escape to Diagon Alley and do some research over the summer.

He found himself accosted by Myrtle while he was sitting at the far end of one of the long tables in the basement of the orphanage, swallowing the watery porridge and trying not to grimace too much. Amy Benson followed resignedly behind her.

"Tell her its true, Tom," she said, sitting down across from him, placing her bowl on the table.

"What's true?" he asked, glaring at Benson. Stubbs was looking over at them now, watching closely. He resisted the urge to make an obscene gesture in his direction. What did he think he was going to do? Torture her?

"That Hornby died because she was attacked by the monster."

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, a girl died at school," he said. "The monster Myrtle refers to is actually a tarantula, so they say."

Benson looked horrified. "God, that's terrible, Myrtle. Sorry I thought you were lying."

"Its okay. I would've thought I was lying, too."

Benson was still standing up, obviously not wanting to sit near Tom, but was put in an awkward place because her companion had already sat down. Finally, she gave in and sat down next to the younger girl.

Stubbs abruptly got up and came to sit beside Benson. Tom smirked at him.

Myrtle turned to Stubbs and Benson. "Tom got bitten by it, too, but the hea- doctors, that is, said that he's fine now."

Stubbs was shoving porridge into his mouth. "How did some massive spider get loose in a school?"

Myrtle pulled at her hair nervously, looking at Tom. "Well, they say that a boy who's a year up from me set it on people. He got expelled."

"How do you set a spider on people?" Benson asked. "He puts it in peoples' beds or something?"

"I don't remember," Tom said honestly. "How it attacked me, that is." The truth was, the spider, not the basilisk, had attacked him and he had no idea how that had happened.

"You lost your memory?" Stubbs said, spoon halfway to his mouth. "Must've been bad, then."

Tom shrugged and Myrtle launched into a tirade of how horrid the other people at their boarding school were. Tom only half listened, watching Mrs. Cole bustle her way over to their table. "Tom, I forgot to tell you last night. You'll be working with Reverend Derby at the church. You're to meet him in thirty minutes in the vestry."

Tom grit his teeth. "I'm to be the alter boy again, then? What happened to the new one?"

In Tom's opinion, he had no place in a church and his old position as the alter boy had made him the subject of much teasing. Mrs. Cole glared at him. "Relocated with his family. They wanted to get away from the air raids."

So, in thirty minutes Tom found himself hurrying over to the church vestry, clutching a patched up old blazer around him, his hair flapping in the wind. It was a cold June and it looked as if it were going to rain.

He ducked into the vestry, a room off of the church that was used for storage. The Reverend Derby was waiting for him, marking off things on a list, and pushing his hair back from his forehead. "Tom," he said, looking up from his paper. "Back from school, then?"

He nodded, suddenly uncomfortable. He hadn't set foot in this place for five years. Derby seemed to ignore the awkwardness and began giving him instructions. "Because of the bombings, we're a lot more busy than we were when you were last here. That means you'll be here helping me every day, helping me with mass and records and everything else. Of course we'll have all those old ladies to entertain when they come for their meetings."

He was referring to the ladies on the church committee who tended to be elderly and nosy, in Tom's opinion.

He spent the day taking inventory of hymn books and repairing their bindings if they were falling apart. He barely spoke to Derby, which wasn't surprising considering the fight they had when Tom was eleven.

Tom had been the alter boy for Wool St Church since he was seven, and in his eleventh year he had decided that he did not belong in church (after all, he was a wizard). He had told Derby that he should find another alter boy because Tom was above such things. He had thought that he was, back then, above everyone else. He believed himself better, superior, but now that he thought about it, he realized this probably wasn't the case. He was below these people. Reverend Derby, who spent all his time helping the community; who cooked breakfast and dinner for the families that had lost their homes in the bombings and crippled soldiers, home from the war, was certainly a better person than he was.

Then he thought of Mrs. Cole, who was strict and cold, but had practically raised countless children over the years without resorting to cruelty or apathy. Sure, she had her faults, but no one at Wool's had ever gone hungry or unclothed. She'd given her life to care for orphans. That was better than anything Tom had ever done.

As he placed the hymn books back on the shelf, he pondered his emotional state. He was certain something had happened to him.

Last year, he had felt overcome with hatred with just about everyone but himself. Now he felt the opposite way. Maybe it was because his actions had resulted in someone's death. He felt as if he should be punished for his wrongdoings, but no one would believe him that he had done anything wrong.

Reverend Derby interrupted his musings. "Will you stay tonight and help with the dinner?"

Tom nodded. It was his job, after all. "How was school, then?" Derby asked. He'd left the Vestry earlier, but now he'd come back with some lunch for Tom.

He swallowed his mouthful of bread and cheese and muttered, "Fine."

Derby sat down on a chair and stared at Tom while he ate. He found it a bit unnerving. Finally, the reverend sighed and said, "You're not evil, you know."

Tom choked. "What?"

"Just because you're a wizard doesn't mean you don't have a place in church. But it also doesn't mean tat you're somehow superior to regular people."

Tom thought he might faint from surprise. Derby knew about magic? "You know," Derby continued. "I didn't figure it out until this year that you went to Hogwarts. It was something Mrs. Cole said that tipped me off. She was talking about an odd chap with red hair and strange clothes that came to tell her you'd been accepted to some school in Scotland. And that he'd come again to tell her that Myrtle had, too. Sounded like Albus Dumbledore to me."

"You know about magic and Dumbledore?" Tom spluttered.

Derby grinned. "Of course. I went to Hogwarts."

"Impossible," Tom breathed.

The reverend grinned, pushing back his black hair that spilled over his forehead. "Why not? Came downstairs to breakfast one day when I was eleven to find a letter sitting at my place at the table. Dumbledore came to tell me, too. I bet you're a Slytherin."

"Yeah," Tom said, still a bit dazed. "You?"

"Hufflepuff, but don't judge."

He got back to the orphanage late that night after helping Derby make and serve dinner to those in London who desperately needed it. It still shocked him that their reverend had gone to Hogwarts, but he supposed it could work. It was not as if all wizards were like Tom.

The orphanage was quiet as he climbed the stairs to his dormitory. The little ones were already asleep, so it was a rule that everyone had to keep quiet after a certain time.

He quietly slipped into his room, only to find the only other person there was Eric. He internally winced; knowing the any confrontation between them was going to be awkward.

Eric looked up when he came in, but then went back to reading his novel. Tom sat on his bed, carefully inspecting the other boy, just in case it was the strange boy who was a metamorphagus again. Unfortunately, Eric noticed.

"Don't worry, its me."

Tom nodded, and then pretended to be engrossed in taking off his shoes. "You know," Eric went on, not taking his eyes off his book, "You don't need to act like your better than any other bloke just cause you go to some fancy school."

Tom swallowed. "I don't. I mean I know I'm not. Any better than you, that is." He found, to his surprised, that he was not lying.

"Well, you certainly act like it."

He did not know what to say. He stared out the window, watching the first drops of rain trickle down the pane. "I'm sorry."

Eric looked frustrated. "You're sorry. You're sorry you're a prat and you don't give a shit about other people? You're sorry you end up hurting anyone who cares about you?"

"Yes!" Tom said, clenching his fists. "I just- I am sorry, Eric!"

The other boy put his book down and sat on the bed so they were knee to knee. "Myrtle said you have a hard time at school, too, like."

"So she's you're spy, now?" he said, a bit hurt.

"I asked her. She's a bad liar. People wouldn't dislike you so much if you didn't hurt them. Tom, you were fine as a kid. Yeah, you could be a little snot, but you were like a brother to me. Then you turned ten or eleven and you scared us with your stealing and killing pets and getting Billy and Amy stuck in that cave. What happened?"

"I don't know," Tom replied quietly. "Something is wrong with me."

"Nothing's wrong with you. You're a normal person and you do have people who care about you, and if you would just see that you'd be okay, I think."

"You care about me?" Tom asked, feeling funny. "I thought you hated me!"

"God, you're so dense sometimes. Yes, I care about you. Yes, I hate the way you act, but I don't hate you."

Tom stared at him, shocked, for a moment, and then they heard a familiar siren. "Damn," cursed Eric. "Its an air raid. We have to get out of here." He grabbed Tom's arm and together they ran down the stairs, Eric banging on doors and ushering children down the stairs and out the door.

During air raids the orphanage and surrounding area went to the nearest tube station, unless they had an Anderson shelter in their back garden, which was rare in their neighborhood because almost no one had yards. It was quite a sight to see all the children hurrying down to the station, guided by the flashlights of Mrs. Cole and Martha and the other staff at the orphanage.

When they were all safely congregated in a corner of the tube platform, Mrs. Cole took a role call. Some of the older boys were missing, but they were trusted to take care of themselves, wherever they were.

When Mrs. Cole called Myrtle's name, they was a silence. Fear mounted in Tom's chest as he looked around at the sea of faces. He couldn't find Myrtle anywhere in the crowd.

He turned to Eric beside him. "She's not here."

Eric stood up. "I'm going to look for her."

Tom stood up too. "I'm coming."

"No, Tom. Stay here. Its too dangerous."

He followed Eric to the stairs that led to the surface. Mrs. Cole was too busy looking around the station for Myrtle that she had not noticed them leaving.

"Eric, I'm coming," he felt his wand against his arm. He always kept it up his sleeve. "What if something happens to you?"

"More like, what if something happens to you?" Eric said, exasperated. "I'd feel better if you stayed here."

"You can't make me stay here. I'm coming with you whether you want it or not."

Eric seemed to give in, or thought it was better to have Tom beside him rather then following behind him at a distance. "Alright, but you stay right beside me, you hear?"

Tom nodded, and together they climbed up the steps to the street.

By this time it was pitch black. There was no light, accept for the searchlights that lit up the sky, and bursts of light from explosions farther away.

"Come on," Eric said. "We're going to run. But watch out for cars. You can't see them in this light."

At least Eric had a flashlight and the orphanage was just down the block. It was eerie how dark it was. They climbed up the back stairs, the flashlight illuminating the dust in the air. "Myrtle!" Eric called when they reached her room. "Myrtle, are you in there?"

There was no answer. "We should split up," suggested Tom.

"No," Eric said, firmly. "We stay together."

They searched from the top floor down, but they had only done two floors when the building seemed to shake and there was a deafening noise. Tom was thrown to the floor and Eric only seemed to keep his balance by holding onto the doorframe. Eric threw himself over Tom in time for a blast that blew the glass in from the windows.

They lay there on the floor for a minute, recovering. "Are you okay?" Eric asked. "I think that was the building across the street."

Tom nodded, pushing himself up. "We should keep looking."

It was when they were halfway down the hall that the noise was suddenly all around them and Tom was sure they would be killed in a direct hit. He grabbed onto Eric as the two of them were thrown against the wall.

A sharp pain made itself know in Tom's arm. "Are you okay?" Eric asked again.

Breathing heavily, he nodded. That was when the smell of burning reached them.

They looked at each other, comprehension dawning. "That hit the apartment next door. The orphanage is on fire. We have to get out of here, Tom."

Eric dragged him by the arm back down the hallway to the stairs. "We have to keep looking," Tom gasped.

"No, we're leaving," Eric said. The inside of the stairway was filled with smoke. Eric cursed. "We can't get out this way. We'll die of smoke inhalation."

They ran back into one of the dormitories that faced the street. The first blast had left the windows without curtains or glass so they could lean out. An orange, flickering light illuminated the street. The buildings across the street were on fire, and the building beside them was gone, but the side of the orphanage must have been on fire because they could see flames coming from their side of the street.

"God," Eric moaned. "We'll never get out. I shouldn't have let you come with me."

The sound of crackling, like the kind Tom knew from sitting in front of the fireplace at Hogwarts, reached their ears. Eric looked out the door to the hallway.

"Its spread to the hallway. We're trapped."

Tom reached for his wand, only to find it gone. He must have dropped it while they were running.

He huddled against Eric, where they sat underneath the window. Eric's arm slipped around his shoulders and pulled him close. "Close your eyes," he instructed Tom. "I'll tell you a story."

Tom and Eric had shared a room until Tom was ten. When Tom would have nightmares, which was often, Eric would let him climb into bed with him and he'd tell him stories. This was an old ritual, and kind of comforting, but panic was rising in Tom's throat.

"Eric, I don't want to die," he whispered. "This is horrible."

"Just listen. Pretend you're somewhere else and listen to me." Eric launched into a story that Tom could tell was from one of those Hardy Boys books, but he'd replaced the main characters' names with Tom and Eric. It was unoriginal, but at least it helped Tom distract himself from the fire that now encompassed the wall in front of them.

And then it seemed like the fire was all around them, but it never touched them. At one point, the floor gave way beneath them, and they fell. Tom was sure that it was the end, but they never burned. Clinging to each other, they waited. Eric had stopped talking along time ago.

Finally, the roaring of the fine seems to die down. Voices reached Tom's ears and suddenly water was all around them instead of flames. The water soaked their clothes and then they heard the yelling.

"My God, there're two boys!" A man with a shock of white hair and a thick firefighter's jacket stood before them. He bent down and tried to pull Tom up, but out of instinct he clung to Eric. Eric stood up unsteadily and stared at the fireman. "Did you find a girl? We- we think she was here, too."

More people swarmed around them, ushering them to an ambulance. To increase Tom's disorientation, he realized that it was becoming light outside.

Eric and Tom sat together, legs hanging out the back of the ambulance. Eric turned to him, asking him frantically, "Are you okay? Are you burnt?"

"I'm fine," he answered wearily. He hadn't done accidental magic since he'd been a young child, but he was thankful for what his magic had done that night.

"We weren't touched at all," Eric murmured. "We're so lucky." He pulled Tom close and held him there, both of them shaking, staring at the orphanage. All that was left was the burnt-out brick shell. "How did we possibly survive that?"

They took Tom to the nearest hospital, Eric coming too, feeding the driver some story that he was Tom's brother. Apparently he'd broken his arm and "was suffering from shock". The harried looking doctor had eventually plastered up his arm after a long wait, since it had been a bad night for raids.

Because there weren't enough beds at the hospital, Tom was sent away almost immediately after the plaster dried. "Mrs. Cole must be frantic," Eric said, as they hurried along the streets back to the ruin of the orphanage, their clothes still soaking wet. "Myrtle's still missing, and she probably thinks me and you are dead! And where are we going to live? Not in the orphanage, that's for sure."

It was raining, and smoke hung thickly in the air, a testament to the destruction that had happened in their area of London during the night. Tom walked silently beside him until they reached their street.

Almost the whole street was burnt down, with some areas completely gone, as if vaporized. Tom swallowed. "Eric, no one's here."

"Of course," the other boy said, leading him away from the shell of the orphanage. "They've probably gone somewhere else. We can ask the ARP warden."

An older man on the next street over, who was too old to enlist, was responsible for patrolling the street during blackouts to make sure all the lights were covered. He took charge of knowing who was in each shelter, and he tried to make sure everyone was all right after a raid, and had a place to go, so he was probably the best person to ask where the others from the orphanage had gone.

They found his shop deserted. He owned a used bookstore, which luckily hadn't been touched by the fire that had destroyed the next street over. Tom and Eric waited anxiously beside the desk with the cash register.

Finally, they heard someone letting themselves in from the back way. When the warden entered the store and saw the two boys, his face lit up. "Why, I just got back from speaking with Mrs. Cole! She'll be over the moon to see you boys. She thinks your dead! And all for nothing, too, since they found the little lass after the raid."


End file.
